Sleep Alone Tonight
by Maria Lynette
Summary: Written for the Musical Heart Challenge on GE. Prompt: He lay awake the whole night through, listening to them argue, desperate to comfort her, to finally let his feeling be known. Summary: Their lips never touched, but they cherished each other always.


Sleep Alone Tonight

_The Daily Prophet's_ latest headline exemplified the carefree atmosphere of post-war Wizarding Britain. A busy color photograph of The Burrow plastered across the front page of the newspaper looked more like a slapstick scene from a Muggle cartoon than a real tragedy. It depicted Arthur Weasley's latest flying automobile teetering precariously upon the ledge of a second floor window while several redheaded wizards fled the scene like pirates abandoning a sinking ship.

Hermione tossed the paper onto the table with a sigh of agitation. She still didn't understand how Ron had let George talk him into taking the car out for a cruise around the garden with Charlie in the driver's seat. The fact that the mischievous twin already had a camera ready with which to capture the mayhem should have given Ron a clue as to the absurdity of the idea. The whole lot of them, except for maybe Percy, wallowed in recklessness, but Charlie always seemed to have a death wish while operating any flying object.

None of them seemed to care about the possible damage to Arthur's reputation as a candidate for Minister for Magic. She was the only person in the family upset about the boys' escapades, and that angered her more than anything else. She didn't want to ruin their fun because they surely had a right to some silliness after losing most of their childhoods to war, but George had taken his prank too far when he had let the pictures get into the wrong hands.

The family would gather at The Burrow in the morning to fix the damage, but Arthur and Molly were staying with her and Ron until then.

Hermione was irritated, very pregnant, and doomed to spend her Valentine's Day with her mother-in-law while her husband hinted at how much better the older woman cooked and cleaned.

The four of them sat around the table in uncomfortable silence until Molly finally spoke.

"Those are beautiful flowers, Hermione. What are they called?" Molly's voice cut through Hermione's troubled thoughts.

For the first time since receiving the flowers, Hermione smiled. "They're Canterbury Bells, my favorite flower. They've been delivered to me every year on this day for the past five years."

Molly turned to her youngest son and lovingly patted his hand. "That's very gentlemanly of you, dear."

Ron sent a glare in Hermione's direction. He growled, "I didn't give them to her. I spent a week's pay on dozens of red roses for her to place around the house, but she gave them to Ginny. She prefers those weeds from a stranger to the expensive flowers from her husband."

Hermione softly protested, "You know that I don't care for roses, but Ginny absolutely adores them. She wanted them to add to the flower arrangements for her dinner party tomorrow night. How could I say no?"

Ron stood from the table and raised his voice. "I don't know, Hermione. Maybe I wouldn't be so upset about it if you'd just tell me who is sending you those flowers!" He turned to his parents and explained, "She gets them on her birthday, too."

Hermione interrupted. "Actually, I get Asters on my birthday. They are specific to my birth month. It's really a very creative gesture."

Becoming even angrier, Ron shouted, "Who is he?"

Hermione looked close to tears. She whispered, "I've already told you multiple times that I don't know. I don't know where they come from. I just like them. They make me happy, and that's all. Why don't you believe me?"

"Don't start crying!"

"Stop shouting at me!"

Molly sat dumbfounded by the vicious argument unfolding before her, but Arthur was quickly losing patience with his son. He slowly rose to his feet and placed his hands on Ron shoulders.

Pushing down on Ron's shoulders with force, he commanded, "Sit down. There is no need to shout at the table. There is no reason to upset your wife over something so trivial as flowers." Ron started to protest, but he was silenced by Arthur's tightening grip. "Let it go, son."

Walking around to Hermione, he placed his hands gently on her shoulders. "Are you alright, Hermione?"

An unexpected warmth encompassed Hermione at the sound of his soothing voice, and she leaned into his touch only to be disappointed as he swiftly withdrew. She had always felt especially comfortable around Arthur, but her sudden desire to cling to him in her loneliness was almost overwhelming.

"I'm fine, thank you. Maybe I'll go read for a bit."

Silently cursing her hormonal mood swings, she bowed her head in embarrassment at the scene that she and Ron had caused. She excused herself from the table and spent the remainder of the afternoon avoiding further conflict with her husband.

HG**AW

Arthur sat awake in an armchair the whole night through, listening to Ron and Hermione argue. He was desperate to comfort her and to finally let his feelings be known, but he had already done enough damage to her relationship with his son. Making things right with Hermione without causing the family more problems was going to be a difficult task.

A soft sound of slippers slowly tapping their way down the hollow wooden stairs echoed into the quaint sitting room. When his childlike Venus stepped around the banister and into full view, she was wearing a faded flannel nightgown with matching slippers. Her motherly form was completely visible through the worn garment, yet she made no effort to conceal herself from his view. He realized then that she must see him as a harmless old man. At that moment, a gentleman would have averted his eyes. A voice in the back of his mind told him to look away, but he could not obey it.

To say that Hermione was surprised at the fire behind Arthur's lingering gaze would be an understatement, but it was the first time that she had felt pretty in months.

"Good morning, Arthur." She didn't know what else to say, but the silence had grown awkward.

Making the automatic move to check his wristwatch, Arthur asked, "Is it really morning already?"

"It's well past midnight. Ron and I aren't keeping you up . . ."

"No! No, my dear, you mustn't worry about that. Since the end of the war, Molly has been taking potions to sleep. She'll be fine in the morning . . . I'm sitting here because I—I owe you an apology, Hermione."

Hermione's heart skipped a beat. "Oh?"

She stepped closer, and his eyes were once again drawn to her body. She was so lonely and hungry for attention that the impropriety of the situation didn't occur to her. Taking another step closer, she withdrew her wand from her sleeve and transfigured the chair into a sofa before sitting next to him.

Defeated, he faced her and said, "I didn't think that sending you flowers would cause tension between you and Ron, and I'm sorry. I should have realized . . . I just—I just wanted to send you a small token of appreciation because you deserve to be cherished, Hermione. It seemed like a simple solution to my feelings for you." When he was finished with his confession, he anxiously searched Hermione's face while awaiting her reaction.

She looked shocked, but she was actually quite flattered. "It was you?"

Misinterpreting Hermione's statement, Arthur responded, "I know. I'm a foolish old man. I hope that we can put this behind us. I'll make things right with Ron, and the flowers will stop appearing on your doorstep."

At his last statement, Hermione gave a whispered shout. "No!"

Arthur looked at her in confusion.

She took the liberty of capturing one of his hands in hers. "They're perfect. Don't stop sending them. You don't understand how miserable I was until I received them yesterday morning. And then—then I came down here practically dressed in rags and as big as a hippopotamus to find you looking at me like I'm beautiful." There was moisture in her eyes.

His confusion deepened. "But, Hermione, you are beautiful. You are absolutely radiant. Hasn't Ron told you that much himself?"

Unsure of herself and a bit embarrassed, Hermione muttered, "Ron hasn't touched me in over a month. He says that I'm too big and that it's weird."

Arthur could scarcely believe what he was hearing. His son obviously didn't know a goddess when he saw one. Arthur also hadn't overlooked the fact that she welcomed his affections and wanted them to continue. Their hands were still clasped in his lap, so he raised her hands to his mouth and placed lingering kisses on her palms.

Sliding her nervous hands from his mouth down to his shoulders, she moved closer to him. Her forehead rested on his, and her eyes were closed as she enjoyed the serenity of the moment. The only thing that she could sense was his overwhelming presence as he stroked her face. Holding her breath, she anticipated his lips moving closer to her own. His hot breath on them was tantalizing, and she couldn't resist the urge to close the remaining distance. At the same moment that she moved forward, he swiftly moved his lips to her forehead and placed a kiss there instead.

In disappointment, she loudly expelled the breath that she had been holding.

He sighed while still holding his lips to her soft skin. He inhaled the scent of her hair one last time before pulling away from her and saying, "It's for the best, Hermione. This affection between us cannot be physical. Just let me cherish you in my own way."

She grabbed his shirt, brought her face to his chest, and cried, "I'd die if you didn't."

"You and my granddaughter need to get some sleep. You should go back upstairs."

With her face still pressed to his chest, she mumbled, "I'd like to sleep alone tonight. I can summon a blanket and get a more peaceful rest here on the sofa. I need to sort through what's happened."

Arthur enveloped her in a parting embrace and prepared to leave, but Hermione silently pleaded with him to wait by pulling on his sleeve. She wasn't ready to part with him, but her words were failing her.

"Tell me what you want." His guilt-ridden tone was barely a whisper.

While searching her mind for a way to make him stay, her baby started kicking. With a triumphant smile, she finally answered, "The baby's kicking. Feel her."

She jerked his hand to her belly, and he allowed her to do so without protest. It was the most perfect and warm moment that he had shared with someone in years. The tiny movements of the child were sublimely magical, Hermione's smile was brilliant, and even the silence of the room was flawless.

There was no doubt in their minds that they both found the situation extremely erotic, but neither one of them wished to risk ruining the moment with sexual intimacy. Hermione held her hand over his larger one and stroked his skin with her thumb until she worked up the nerve to turn her body and lean her back against his chest. The hand on her abdomen remained, but his arm was now wrapped about her waist.

He held her as close as he dared and stroked her belly lovingly while she closed her eyes and rested against him.

Hermione felt love and contentment in their gentle embrace until a sudden burning desire for something more began to build within her neglected body. Praying that Arthur would follow her lead, she very hesitantly guided his hand between her thighs.

Arthur knew that he would possibly regret touching her for the rest of his life, but he was too involved in the moment. He didn't want to deny her; he couldn't. She had spent a loveless Valentine's Day estranged from her husband, and she needed to feel loved. She was sexy, and he'd make sure that she knew it. He wanted to make her feel ecstasy with his touch.

Sliding his hand under her clothing he began giving her the physical attention that she deserved. She immediately responded by arching her back and throwing her head against his shoulder. A soft moan that she released against his ear drove him to work even harder to please her. She was soon making the most pleasant noises that he had ever heard, and he reveled in the knowledge that they were just for him. She felt like hot silk around his fingers, and her intoxicating smell drove him into virtual euphoria.

Hermione turned her face into his neck and smothered a tempestuous cry upon her final release. Reclined and completely sated in his arms, she began to reconnect with reality.

They both understood that they would never touch again. He would continue to cherish her from afar, and she would continue to appreciate it when he did.

She sighed, "That was wonderful."

"Yes, you were wonderful, Hermione."


End file.
